


Joys of the Fallow Mire

by felassann



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:45:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5190929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felassann/pseuds/felassann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yavaena and co. discover the joys of the Fallow Mire. There are dead people…lots of dead people. Perhaps there’s some time for a bit of flirting, as well?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joys of the Fallow Mire

“It’s wet,” The Iron Bull groaned.

Yavaena huffed away water from her lips and pulled her cowl tight around her face, shielding it from the endless onslaught of rain. “I’ve noticed that.”

“It’s wet,  _there are dead people everywhere_ …and there are demons.  _Demons_ , Boss.”

“Don’t forget about the Avvar trying to kill us,” Varric laughed. “And wasn’t that in the job description, Tiny?” His own feet were fast sinking into a pool of mud and he moved to a firmer patch of ground.  _Oh joy_. “How’re you doing over there, Chuckles?”

“Fine, I suppose,” Solas said, his usual stoicism dripping from his lips. Or was that rain? “…better when we finish our business here.”

“Come on, Chuckles! Where’s your boundless sense of optimism gone?”

“In the mud, with everything else.”

A laugh from Yavaena drew his gaze and she looked away, falling into step beside Bull. They avoided the water as best they could, for fear that undead would rise from its depths—there was plenty to fight on land, already. Nothing about this place was pleasant. In addition to the rotting stench of aged disease and seemingly endless living corpses, the Veil was thin here, and everything was restless, even his companions.

He watched the Inquisitor tug away hair sticking stubbornly to her lips and cheeks, and after another few short moments she gave up, moving uncomfortably and pulling at the clothes clinging to her body. He noted that, damp like this, they framed her petite Elvhen figure quite pleasantly. Still, she offered Bull a comforting smile and laughed as the Qunari continued his rant on the joys of the Fallow Mire.

Perhaps, in this place, there was something pleasant.  _Beautiful_.

…this is not what was supposed to happen.

Solas tore his gaze from her and instead focused on the task at hand. They were to find and rescue the Inquisition soldiers captured by Avvar bent on challenging the Inquisitor to a battle to the death. A simple enough task—he didn’t doubt her ability to defeat such foes. He had seen her endure far too much to be taken down so easily: from surviving physically through the Fade and tripping through time, to facing down a Tevinter magister with his false archdemon and an avalanche that leveled Haven. She pushed against the tide, hard and fast, with a fiery passion that left her enemies not but a pile of ashes.

Thus far she had exceeded his expectations. She was a mystery. In the beginning he thought her to be as the other Dalish he had sought out just a year past—ignorant, unwilling to learn from a “flat-ear,” as they had called him. The prisoner-elf had been no more than a means to an end, for she held his power in her hand, and at first that thought made his blood run cold. How would she use this power? Certainly it would be better than a would-be-god having it, he had hoped. But within her was an unmistakable kindness and sense. It was clear, initially, that Yavaena doubted herself able to live up to the expectations those at Haven so readily placed upon her; she hid her fears behind smiles, however, slipping on a mask of confidence. Apparently she found comfort in his knowledge and tales of the Fade, for that mask melted away when he spoke of the Ancient Elves, of his journeys, and he found that he enjoyed telling her these stories. She listened intently, brows quirking and head tilting just slightly when disagreeing, when questioning. It was…endearing.

Things were changing, thoughts were changing… _everything_  was changing, and at present, he wasn’t sure what he should do about it.

“Bull!”

Solas’s attention jolted when Yavaena’s shout ripped through the pounding rain. He looked up just in time to witness Bull falling into the water and Yavaena desperately grabbing for his arm in an attempt to keep him ashore, forgetting to take into account the Qunari’s sheer size. Both fell in, splattering and spitting the dirty water from their mouths as they fought to gain their footing.

For a moment everything was silent.

But murky figures began rising from the water, unintelligible moans from near fleshless lips nearing with each hobbling step.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” Yavaena cursed, throwing up a barrier to keep an arrow from impaling her head.

The party came together in an instant, each easily slipping into their role as fighting companions. Bull found his footing and pulled the warhammer from his back, a smile spread wide across his lips as he ran toward a group of corpses; with only the slightest hint of being off-balance, he pivoted and swung–a roar of exhilaration booming from his chest as his weapon came crashing down in a mighty blow.

After throwing bouts of flame and lightning Yavaena conjured another barrier, this time shielding The Iron Bull from a graceless sword thrust before sparing a glance at the two behind her. Varric picked off the archers who emerged on their flank, his steps cautious to keep ashore, and Bianca sang as bolt after bolt ripped through the air to pierce dead skin. Solas’ arms moved in a familiar motion, casting his own barrier around himself and the rogue dwarf–but then, in a movement so smooth it bordered on the line of pure elegance, he dipped low, kneeling to press his palm against the muddy ground. The accumulation of corpses struggled uselessly to escape the pull of the small rift, and his gaze fell to her then from beneath his cowl, rain dripping from his nose.

_…Creators, that was sexy._

Yavaena allowed herself a smile at the thought.

The feeling of her body being consumed with her own magic was a pleasant one, and she dug her foot into the bog before pushing herself into a step through the Fade. The experience was always exhilarating, a chill dancing across her skin while she herself sprinted towards the target. She landed, her newly-learned spirit blade in one hand while her staff sizzled with lightning in the other and she spun, sending her sword of solidified magic through a corpse before pivoting and thrusting her staff’s blade piercing through another. She could feel the thrum of Solas’ magic beneath her feet, in the air and teasing at the skin of her cheeks. Dipping low and dodging the path of a short blade, Yavaena stepped into the Fade once more to circle those corpses remaining, waves of magic coursing through her veins and leaving them stiff with the frost of winter.  

When she fell away frozen blocks replaced the corpses. Solas’ work. In response Yavaena lifted her staff, twirling it in her hand, and slammed it into the ground; lightning struck in a chain of destruction, leaving them not but pieces floating in the swamp.

A final bellow of victory from Bull heralded the battle’s end. By now, all were dirtied with signs of their clashes with those of the Fallow Mire. Varric’s pants were thick with mud up to his hips, Bull with the usual gore of being in the thick of battle; both he and Yavaena were covered head-to-toe in mud from their fall into the swamp. Though he wasn’t clean by any means, Solas appeared the most decent of them, his ankles and arms soiled in muck. All were drenched. All wanted nothing more than to be back at Skyhold in dry clothes beside a warm fire.

But everyone was as safe as they could be on shore, and together they shared a sigh.

“Boss?”

Yavaena adjusted her belts and looked to the mercenary with arched brows. “Yeah, Bull?”

“It’s wet,  _there are dead people everywhere_ …”

–

The soldiers captured by the Avvar helped one another out onto the fortress grounds, Bull holding a younger lad by the waist to keep him steady while Varric and Solas tended to others. Most were relatively unharmed, but a few would require more medical attention to get back on their feet. While her companions were busy aiding the injured, Yavaena spoke to Skywatcher, the Avvar they had met when looking for the stronghold, and he agreed to join the Inquisition. It was something Yavaena was thankful for; he seemed like a decent man, and the more allies the better.

For a moment she watched her companions, remembering when they first came together and how strange it was to fight at their side. It had been awkward, guessing at what they were going to do, where they would aim their next attack, how they moved. Taking up arms with them was so much more natural now, and though they hadn’t perfected it yet, their teamwork had improved drastically. She trusted them with her life…and hoped they felt the same.

She let her eyes linger on Solas, watching as he took a soldier’s arm to inspect it. Even from where she stood the gash looked horrendous. Solas’s knitted brows echoed her thoughts, bringing his long fingers to the wound; they shimmered with magic, a light that caused the man’s muscles to relax as he leaned against the stone wall. Yavaena noted how the elf’s brows remained knit together in concentration, how his hands remained steady and sure as magic flowed through them. He had very nice hands, she concluded. Her eyes were drawn to them–he had tended to her wounds quite a few times, so she knew how they felt on her skin, how his touch could be so feather soft yet send tingles of heat rushing through her…and she was certain it wasn’t healing magic.

Apparently she had been staring for too long. The soldier looked up and his shoulders straightened–at the reaction Solas looked up as well, catching her stare before she could turn away.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” the soldier said at her approach, his eyes bright with enthusiasm–impressive, given what he had just been through. “If it weren’t for you…”

Yavaena laughed softly and knelt beside him, taking the bandages from his fumbling fingers. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this situation.” She gave a warm smile and took the soldier’s arm from Solas, who accepted her offer of help with his own small smile. “But you’re welcome. I’m just glad everyone’s all right.”

The soldier laughed, taking her hand when she was finished wrapping his wound. “We knew you’d come for us, lady Herald.”

They were to lead the soldiers to the nearest camp where others of the Inquisition waited before heading back to Skyhold. Yavaena could feel the exhaustion in her muscles, in her bones, and the thought of being in her quarters at Skyhold, wrapped in blankets by the fire made her want to be back all the more. There was no doubt that the the others felt the same, especially as they trudged back through the bog. Solas walked alongside her while Varric and Bull took either side of the group, and in the silence she found herself sneaking glances at the Elvhen mage. It was silly–even foolish, perhaps–to develop feelings for someone in times like these. Or maybe it was natural…though most likely foolish. But she found that, in this instance, she didn’t mind playing the fool. As she learned more of him, and the more time she spent listening to him speak of himself and the Fade, the more she felt herself yearning to know him more. To know of the sadness in his gaze, the sadness he tried to mask when speaking of what he had seen in his journeys…as if he missed something.

Always he answered her questions, was willing to debate, was willing to teach and listen. Always he responded to her flirting in kind, more often than not in a way that had her blushing far more than she intended, especially when, most times, she was the one who initiated said flirting. He was calm, sure, steady. He…was a comfort, one she was thankful to have at her side. Idly, she wondered if she could offer the same to him.

When she looked to him again she noticed that mud had unsurprisingly managed to stain his face, just below his cheekbone in the hollow of his cheek. His sharp features were one of the first things she had noticed about Solas, save the obvious lack of  _vallaslin_. The rain had done much to clean her own skin, but Solas’s cowl was set just so, and the rain was unable to reach.

In a bold move, and before she could think better of it, Yavaena moved to take his chin gently into her fingers, using her sleeve to wipe the dirt away. His breath caught, a quiet noise soft in his throat.

“ _Ir abelas_. There was some mud…”

“That isn’t surprising…considering our surroundings.” He watched her for a moment as she pulled away. He saw the change in her expression, as if she were just now thinking about her actions. “…but thank you.” He chuckled, taking in the sight of her. She was covered in dirt and soaked to the bone, as were they all, yet that did nothing to hide her charm, her beauty. “Perhaps we could all use a bath.”

She laughed at that. “Oh, I don’t know. I quite like this look of yours,  _lethallin_.”

He nearly scoffed, amused. “Dirty and wet?”

Her brows arched and this time it was his turn to think over his words.

“ _Perhaps_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Man...gotta love the Fallow Mire. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feedback is most appreciated and very welcomed. :)


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